


Edward In Aulis

by aurilly



Category: Original Work
Genre: Grand Tour, Greek Mythology - Freeform, Italy, M/M, Statue Comes to Life, Thespians In Love, aunts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-28
Updated: 2018-07-28
Packaged: 2019-06-17 19:24:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15468339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aurilly/pseuds/aurilly
Summary: Edward doesn't have high hopes for this leg of his Grand Tour. Little does he know that Sicily is more magical than even the most effusive guide books might say.





	Edward In Aulis

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jougetsu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jougetsu/gifts).



> The theatre they visit really is [the most magical place](https://lonelyplanetwpnews.imgix.net/2017/09/taormina-1024x683.jpg). Also, according to myth, Hephaestus, god of metalworking and sculpture, had workshop inside the Mount Etna and used its fires as his forge. It is said that he had the power to bring his sculptures to life. The more you know!

“Are you certain you’ll be all right, Edward?” Aunt Daphne asked in the doorway to her room. She looked sepulchral in her nightdress.

“Oh, don’t worry about me,” Edward said with his most innocent and winning of smiles, the one that had helped gain him a prefectship at Harrow, and a role in a production ‘The Winter’s Tale’ at Cambridge a couple of years before. “I’m just exhausted after the crossing, as you both are. I’m sure I’ll fall asleep as soon as my head hits the pillow.”

“And that’s the beauty of Taormina,” Aunt Edith proclaimed. It was her eighth proclamation of the day (Edward had kept count). “Not like that nasty Venice, where I hear they have hunting game masquerades until all hours, and the women flaunt about with barely any clothes on.”

“They’re called scavenger hunts,” Edward muttered under his breath, but apparently not softly enough.

“What did you say?” Aunt Edith asked.

“Nothing, Aunt Edith.”

He spent the next half an hour heating her leaky water bottle and helping Aunt Daphne find her purse, which she’d somehow managed to leave behind a plant in the dining room. Nearby they also found her bracelet, which she hadn’t even yet noticed was missing. 

By the time he got to his room, Edward really was as exhausted as he’d pretended. For all its palatial exterior, the inside of Taormina’s best hotel could only charitably be called hospitable. The bed creaked and whined when he collapsed on it, and he imagined how the many cracks in the ceiling might form an epic mural to rival the ones he’d seen in the Vatican a couple of weeks before. 

Yet another day on the world’s worst Grand Tour.

He savored the quiet—quiet that had been preciously rare during this voyage, between Aunt Edith’s constant gout and Aunt Daphne’s constant disorientation. When they’d first proposed taking him on a tour of the Continent to celebrate the successful completion of his university career, Edward had vociferously rejected the idea of hiring a bear-leader to accompany them. He’d assumed that would mean yet another chaperone, where there were already two too many. But now, after almost three months of traveling, Edward began to wish he’d taken one on. For then, perhaps, there would have been someone to take care of his aunts other than himself. 

He should have been in Venice right now, enjoying all the liberties and sights that had made it the favourite stop of all his older friends. Instead, because Aunt Agatha knew someone here, he was stuck in Sicily, where these was no charm, no grandiose architecture, and nothing to see but some old Greek theatre. After Rome and Pompeii, if Edward never saw another ruin, it would be too soon. He’d never heard of anyone coming here. There wasn’t even anyone interesting to talk to. The only other travelers he’d seen so far were old Germans, and a convention of British Museum curators.

Since there was nothing else to do, Edward got up to get ready for bed. However, just as he’d begun to loosen his shirt, he heard a noise from across the courtyard. He went to the window and spotted a shape climbing down a drainpipe. Whoever it was, he moved as quickly and silently as Davies, the most famous dormitory escape artist to ever attend Harrow, with a record forty-two after lights jaunts to his name.

Edward watched for a moment, marveling at this master, but then his rational brain kicked in. Whoever this fellow was, he had the right idea. He was getting out of this hotel. Perhaps he knew where a chap might find some entertainment. Perhaps he might let Edward join him.

He had only barely climbed out the window when he saw that his role model had almost reached the pavement. As loudly as he dared, he whispered, “Wait! Please!”

His heart fell when, after a quick glance up, the other man continued just as quickly as ever. But once he stood on the pavement, he did wait for Edward to finish his careful descent. 

“Thanks,” Edward said as he brushed the dirt from hands onto his trousers. 

The cloaked man stood in shadow. All Edward could see of the man were milky white hands and thick blond curls sticking out of the top of his hood—so blond that they seemed white. A trick of the moonlight, no doubt. Beautiful hands that seemed to have never been exposed to the hot Sicilian sun. He turned a little and Edward caught a glimpse of an equally pale chin, rounded but firm.

“Why did you follow me?” He had a rich, wise, voice, speaking English with an accent that Edward could not place. 

“I wanted to know where you were going, and to ask… to ask if I might accompany you.”

“That’s rather presumptuous. I thought you English valued discretion more than that. I might be headed to a secret rendezvous, to see a lover, for example.”

“I hope you aren’t,” Edward said, realizing only too late how that might sound. 

The man cocked his head, jutting out that comely chin while he looked at Edward in a new light. More of the man’s pale, flawless face became visible, and Edward goggled at the sight of it. There had never been a more aquiline nose, nor more perfectly puckered lips, nor more chiseled cheekbones. Broad shoulders whose muscles Edward could almost make out through the thin cloak (he must have been wearing the very thinnest of shirts underneath). Edward couldn’t quite get a clear view of him, but he guessed the man was around his age, or very slightly younger. 

“I had not expected to find you so forward, nor so adventurous,” the man said, proving that he had taken Edward’s second meaning. “You seemed such a weakling, allowing yourself to be ruled by fussy old women, which a man such as you ought not to be.”

“I’m not ruled,” Edward replied hotly, almost forgetting to keep his voice down. “Wait, what do you mean, ‘a man such as me’?”

“Young, strong, rich, titled,” the man said, and then more softly, “Alive. Free.”

“What do _you_ know about me or about my aunts? You’ve never seen me before.”

“Are you so certain?” the man asked. A sad laugh lurked behind his words. 

“I would have noticed you if I’d seen you. I’m sure of it. I would have remembered _you_.”

Edward felt glad for the moonlight, because there, he’d gone and said something dripping with innuendo again. Only this time, he’d almost intended to. The man was beautiful, he’d decided, even though he still hadn’t gotten a full look at him, and even though he was being terribly insulting.

“Come, Edward,” the man said with a mirthful curl of his pale, pouty lips. “Since you will follow me whether I wish it or not.” 

“I’d rather you wished it. Say, what’s your name? Since you somehow know mine.” Edward wondered how he’d found it out. They _must_ have met, if only he could remember how.

“Olenus.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Olenus.”

“You, too, Edward. I confess, I had thought this to be yet another solitary night, one of an endless string. I am glad of company, especially yours, now that you have proven yourself to be as interesting as I’d hoped you’d be when I first saw you. It is not often that my disappointments are reversed.”

Aunt Edith had taken great pains to keep Edward away from scandalous French and Italian girls, little knowing that Edward was in very little danger from them. However, the supervision had the frustrating side effect of keeping him from meeting anyone at all. Edward had not expected to find a… simply a friend, he tried to convince himself, even as his heart thumped hopefully in his chest, and the man’s words could easily be interpreted to mean anything but… in backwater Taormina.

They kept to the shadows of the streets in the now-empty town. Edward had seen little more than the road leading from the seashore to the hotel, so this nighttime tour disoriented him.

“Where are we going?” Edward asked after a few minutes of silent walking, in an effort to avoid awkward questions from the night watchmen patrolling the streets.

“You will see.” Olenus looked at Edward hard, as though regretting his decision to take him along. “You _can_ keep a secret, can’t you? When tomorrow comes, you will speak of this to no one. You will speak of _me_ to no one, won’t you?”

Edward, who had kept the secret of the pre-graduation forest feast at Harrow, and who had not spilled even the tiniest bean about the King’s College Choir program shuffle, bristled with offense. 

Olenus seemed to notice, and laughed. “All right, all right. I meant no insult. I suppose even if you tried to tell, no one would believe you.”

“I won’t tell. But I also don’t understand what exactly needs to be a secret. We aren’t in school. There are no house masters. No one will get sacked because we snuck out of a hotel.”

Instead of replying, Olenus yanked Edward into an azalea bush. Edward was so startled by the motion that he fell into Olenus’s broad, strong chest—as hard and sculpted as stone. Much firmer and more muscular than even the best of the rowers on the Cambridge team. His mouth went dry as he felt Olenus’s arms wrap around him to help balance him. He looked up into the palest eyes he had ever seen, with eyebrows so blond they seemed white. Olenus looked down, seemingly just as taken aback as Edward felt. The moment stretched on, too long, with Edward’s heart thumping against Olenus’s chest.

It had been a long time. It had been almost never. There had only been Carson, back in Edward’s third year at school, near the swimming hole. Edward hadn’t seen Carson since the boy’s expulsion for having tried the same thing with a younger student. Ever since, he’d lived in fear of trying again, lest he be found out. But something about Olenus seemed safe, or perhaps it was the magical moonlight creating chiaroscuro of Mount Etna’s mythical smokestack. 

“Last chance to turn back,” Olenus whispered. 

“I wanted a night out. I shan’t go back. And I can keep your secrets, I promise. If you’ll promise to keep mine.”

“There is no one for me to tell,” Olenus said, again with that horrible sense of loneliness and sadness that Edward immediately wanted to heal, though he knew not how.

Olenus opened a secret door that Edward would never have noticed—that possibly no one had noticed in thousands of years, and led them into a sort of cave.

“What is this place?”

“We are underneath the ancient theatre, in the place where the props used to be kept.” 

Olenus lit a torch that he pulled out of a wall and led Edward along by the hand, pointing out details of interest, better detailed and peppered with more realistic anecdotes than any Pompeii tour guide. Edward could have listened to him all day, making history come alive, as though he’d really been there, though, of course, he must had read it all in books. 

“And here are where they used to keep the animals,” Olenus continued, while holding Edward’s hand to lead him through the corridors. “And here is where a trapdoor on the stage leads. There was a play by Sophocles that made excellent use of it.”

Edward, a theatre enthusiast who had never ragged during Greek, could not remember a Sophocles play that might have needed such a thing. 

“Which play was it?” he asked.

_“Icarus in Sparta.”_

“There’s no such play.”

“As far as I can tell, it is not one of the ones that survived to be taught in your schools. A shame, as it was his best.” 

Before Edward could inquire further, Olenus ushered them up and out of the bowels of the theatre. Edward whistled his appreciation. A more beautiful prospect had never been seen. Even if he had never met Olenus, he would have stopped regretting Venice at this view. Nothing could compete with the beauty before him. The most perfect theatre and dramatic backdrop imaginable. Edward imagined all the plays that must have been staged here, the huge crowds that must have come, all with Etna smoking in the background.

“It is singular, is it not?” Olenus said softly.

“It is beautiful. Do you come here often?”

“Yes. I was born over there.” He pointed at Etna.

“What, is there a village along the slope?”

“No, I was born inside the mountain. There is—was—a special forge in there. The temperature has always made the best weapons and objects of interest.”

“Ah, so your father is a metalworker?”

“I suppose you could call him my father.”

Everything about this was mysterious. Edward felt that they were tiptoeing around something he could not guess.

“Why did you bring me here?” he asked. 

“I heard you reciting lines from Shakespeare under your breath earlier, when your aunts were tormenting you. At least, I think they were Shakespeare. I… I brought you here in the hopes that you might recite for me a bit more, if you know it. I have never had an opportunity to read those plays.”

“You love the theatre, too?” 

“You might say I was made for it. Made for the stage— _this_ stage.”

Edward looked longingly at the stage. His parents, supported by his aunts, had forbade him from participating in any more plays after that first one at Cambridge, but his entire self yearned for it. To recite for this beautiful man, on this beautiful stage…

“I’d love to, if you will return the favor. Treat me to a bit of this lost Sophoclean masterpiece.”

“It’s a deal,” Olenus said with a smile.

“Shakespeare is a bit difficult for non-native speakers. Are you sure you’ll understand?”

“Oh, yes. Don’t worry about me. I learned English from the best Oxford professors.”

“Did you go to Oxford?” Edward wondered if they’d ever seen one another across the cricket field.

“No, I have never left Sicily. But they often visit the hotel, and I am a good listener.” 

“So, you’re a native?” 

“Yes, I’ve been here forever,” Olenus replied absently. “Even though I am sick of each and every olive tree. I am sick of everything except this theatre.”

“Then why do you stay?”

“Because I have no way of escaping. Come morning, I will be forced to resume my prison. A prison that has never left this island. Nor can I think of a way to help move it.” Olenus took a seat and spread out his long white legs; he didn’t appear to be wearing trousers under his cloak, a concept that immediately made Edward hot all over. “But enough about me. Go on. On the stage. Let me hear that beautiful voice of yours.”

Between Olenus’s tantalizing nudity and the compliments, Edward had trouble centering himself, but he took a few deep breaths and began to recite his favourite speech from Romeo and Juliet, about Queen Mab. As he went on, he felt strength entering him, dispelling all the last vestiges of the day’s earlier seasickness. He felt whole here, on this stage, with this stranger. 

Olenus leaned forward, in rapt attention, the best audience Edward had ever dreamed of. 

And when he came forward later on to join Edward on the stage, addressing the most beautiful monologue of love to him, in flawlessly conjugated Ancient Greek, Edward almost lost his balance. Whoever had written this play—and yes, some of the turns of phrase _did_ sound Sophoclean, but it had to have been an imitation, and homage—and taught it to Olenus must have been the greatest Classics professor and thespian in all the world. 

All thoughts of academia, however, fled from Edward’s mind when Olenus took Edward’s hand at the crescendo of the monologue, and sealed the final sentiments with a kiss. His lips were firm, and his arms strong as they came around Edward for the second time that night. Poking into his hip, he felt something even harder, and he was well on his way to a similar state.

They eventually lowered themselves to the floor in order to kiss more easily. Edward pushed aside the cloak and confirmed that Olenus wore nothing at all underneath. 

“You got undressed _before_ you went on a night prowl?” he had to ask at one point. 

“My clothes are… they were soiled and in the wash.”

Edward had a feeling this was the only lie Olenus had told him so far, but he soon didn’t care, because Olenus’s hand had reached into his trousers and begun stroking his cock. He decided not to ask any more questions, lest he ruin this night. 

They kissed and recited and taught each other monologues all over the theatre until the crepuscule of dawn began to form a band on the eastern horizon. Edward had never felt so happy.

“We must get back. I need to be back before dawn,” Olenus said sadly. “We have stayed far longer than I ever intended.”

Edward thought of his aunts. Aunt Edith often woke early, with the dawn, and would be knocking on his door any minute now. With a dejected slump of the shoulders, he said, “You’re right.”

“I’d like to do this again. Tomorrow night?”

Edward frowned. “We are only stopping this one night. Tomorrow afternoon, we ride to Syracuse.”

“Never before have I had such a partner, for line readings and… and everything. It has been a gift, Edward.”

“For me, too.” 

Together, they ran back through the town. They parted in the courtyard of the hotel, each one ready to head for their respective drainpipes.

“I’ll look for you at breakfast,” Edward said. 

“I doubt you’ll see me. Just as you failed to see me yesterday.”

“But you’ll be there, won’t you?” Edward asked desperately. For the first time, he wondered if perhaps Olenus’s secret was that he was a servant, a porter, someone hiding in plain sight that Edward often didn’t notice. If so, Edward decided he didn’t care. “Look, it doesn’t matter to me what your situation is, or who you are. I want to see you again, today, tomorrow. There is nothing for you to be ashamed of. This prison you talked about… If it’s servitude, I’ll help you get out of it. You can… I’ll do something.”

“I am not ashamed. It’s merely impossible. But I truly enjoyed tonight, Edward. I will never forget it. Thank you. And remember… not a word.” With one last kiss, Olenus slipped out of Edward’s hold and began climbing up again.

Edward tried to memorize which window Olenus disappeared into before shutting his curtains and getting into the pajamas that he would have to get out of again very shortly. He vowed to find him, to solve this mystery and rescue Olenus from whatever tragedy he seemed to be living.

A couple of hours later, at breakfast, Edward scanned the room in search of anyone who looked like Olenus. But once again, the only people in sight were old Germans. The Germans and his aunts.

“We of course will visit the Greek Theatre today,” Aunt Edith said. 

“Anything you like, Aunt Edith,” Edward replied absently.

The owner of the hotel came by their table to greet them. “And how are you enjoying your stay so far?”

“Oh, it’s wonderful here,” Aunt Daphne exclaimed. “Such a beautiful hotel. I love all the details. All the art work and sculpture everywhere give it such atmosphere. Like that one over there.” She pointed at a marble nude in the corner, standing in the guise of an actor. Beautiful long white limbs, and curls and a face that… 

A face that Edward had spent the night kissing.

Edward goggled. It couldn’t be. It was completely impossible. But then he remembered all the things Olenus had said—his prison, having been in Sicily for “forever”, Sophocles…

Even if he was wrong, even if he was crazy, Edward now knew what souvenir he wanted from the trip. 

“Ah,” the hotel owner was saying, breaking into the broken jumble of Edward’s thoughts. “That is a special piece. Removed long ago from the ancient Greek theatre in town. It is the last of the statues that once lined its walls. Ancient and priceless.”

“Well, it is very beautiful,” Aunt Daphne said.

“I think it’s a scandal. Why they couldn’t at least have carved a toga for him…” Aunt Edith grumbled.

Edward remembered Olenus’s desperate desire to leave, to be free, to see places other than Italy. He could do this. If this was real—if the statue in the corner really was Olenus—he could help, and he no longer cared what Aunt Edith might have to say about it. 

“Everything has a price,” he asserted. “And I would like to know what yours might be for that statue. I like it.”

“Edward!” Aunt Edith exclaimed. “What on earth are you…”

“I like that statue very much, and intend to have it,” he repeated. “Name your price, sir. And then I will arrange for a sturdy crate.”

His aunts continued to flutter and reproach, but Edward held firm, and responded only to the acquisitive gleam in the hotel owner’s eye. They had it all settled in minutes. He didn’t even bother haggling. 

Once he got Olenus to England, Edward told himself, it would be his choice. Olenus could leave (once Edward had provided him with some clothes) and make his own way with no obligation to Edward whatsoever. Or he could stay with Edward, accompany him to plays in London, and kiss him every night. Edward very much hoped for the latter.

But, either way, he would be free.


End file.
